


Jumping The Gun

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Arguing, Bitterness, Bittersweet Ending, Confrontations, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Explanations, False Accusations, Forgiveness, Friendship, Guilt, Hugs, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Mid-Canon, Post-Battle, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: After a sacrifice is made by one of his soldiers, Optimus faces the unanswered question of how he came to earn such devotion. Judging by the reaction of the wounded Autobot's brother, he'll need an acceptable answer to that question very soon.





	

Optimus knew as soon as it happened that, all too soon, words would be had with a certain officer. Who would be having words with whom, he didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. Presently it wasn’t important. He was renowned for keeping his cool in situations like this and now it was needed more than ever.

 _He_ was needed and that was precisely why he now had this grim dilemma. He could feel raw, hollow guilt mingling with the concern he felt as he loitered outside the medical bay. Under necessity, he had been in there two afternoons ago, when Ratchet was examining him post-incident, but Optimus had barely a dent. He had gently but hastily pushed Ratchet’s hands away, ordering a report on the brave, comatose Autobot who had saved him.

The Prime was not known for cowardice or for abandoning his troops; thus he had been rather startled when Ratchet had hesitated, ducked his helm and suggested in a low voice that he leave.

“At least for now. Clearly you’re alright and in this case…that might not be helping,” he’d muttered. It had been explanation enough and Optimus had glanced at the other officer sitting nearby, who still refused to look at him, before silently making his retreat. If he wanted, he could have tried to reenter by now, but he didn’t feel as prepared as he should be for the conversation that lay ahead.

Occasionally one of the others who had seen it happen would appear at his side. Jazz had stayed for about two joors before Optimus had lightly nudged him. His third-in-command had taken the wordless dismissal as well as could be expected, visor dimming, lips pressed into a tight line as he stood.

“You need me an’ you’ll give me a call, right, Prime?” he prodded, not waiting for an answer before wandering away.

*

After Jazz had left, Ironhide and Cliffjumper were the most frequent visitors; sometimes they came together, settling down to flank him as though they were on the way to a ceremony where he would need guardianship. It was comforting, in its way, until Optimus began to consider _why_ they thought he needed guarding. After the fifth rotation, he had put a hand on each of their shoulders.

“Ironhide, Cliffjumper, I appreciate your support, but this is something I’ll need to face on my own,” he stated with more surety than he felt. They both protested almost before he had finished, having clearly given much thought to the matter, each picking up seamlessly where the other left off.

“It wasn’t your fault, Optimus; none of us could’ve dodged Megatron’s shot, not even you!”

“You’re our leader and it was _his_ choice to save you; you didn’t force him to do it, so why should you take the blame for it?”

“And that’s what we plan on tellin’ him!”

Huffing softly, Optimus squeezed the shoulders he held, shaking his helm. They both stared at him, defiant and protective, and he found that he was asking himself an age-old question: what had he done to earn this devotion from them?

He still didn’t have an answer to that, but he had a feeling that he would need it soon enough.

“Thank you both. It may not be my fault, but I _am_ the cause and I’m going to take whatever consequences stem from that—just as either of you would. Go on.”

Discontent but obedient, the pair left him to his fate, Cliffjumper casting a glance over his shoulder. Optimus was mildly surprised to see how genuinely concerned the Minibot looked, but he waved a reassuring hand nonetheless and was glad his facemask hid the undermining frown he wore.

*

At long last, Optimus straightened from where he had leaned against the wall of the hallway as Prowl plodded out to meet him. Against his will, Optimus swallowed hard. Frankly, his second looked like slag melted over, still dusty with smoke from the battle three orns ago. Clearly he hadn’t washed or recharged since the attack had occurred; Optimus flinched in sympathy.

As soon as he registered Optimus’ presence, Prowl tried to straighten, but his posture was strained, as though some unseen force was dragging on his shoulders and doorwings. His optics were a different matter; washed-out as they were, they still managed to sharpen like gunmetal.

“Permission to speak freely?”

Optimus braced himself. “Of course.”

Prowl simply stared at him for a klik or two before remarking, raspy and deadpan, “It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when he leapt between you and Megatron. He knew _exactly_ what was going to happen, but he didn’t think about it. He didn’t weigh his options, he didn’t look for another way to save you…He just jumped that gun like it was all he had ever lived for.”

“Bluestreak has _never_ felt that way,” Optimus retorted quietly, but Prowl spoke over him.

“All appearances to the contrary, you mean? He sees you as his hero. There isn’t a battle that goes by where he thinks for himself if you’re in danger. None of them do. I’m not like them; it’s my job to think of their lives, of _his_ life. Long before I joined the Autobots, since the orn my brother and I were sparked, it was my job to think of his life. You can’t—”

For the first time, Prowl’s vents hitched, as though he had run out of air, though Optimus suspected another cause. “You can’t imagine what it’s like, watching him haphazardly throw his life away to save yours. These past three orns, I’ve felt him die no less than five separate times. The first time, on the battlefield, Ratchet barely brought him back. He brought Bluestreak back when his chest was _disintegrating_ because he saved you. Prime, why— _how_ is it alright that Bluestreak is more devoted to your life than to his?”

Optimus had been anticipating this, but now that the question was staring him in the face, he found he still had no passable answer.

“It isn’t,” he admitted at length.

Prowl blinked twice, a bitter smile tearing at his lips. “Then tell me why the blind devotion of a soldier is made out to be something _admirable_. The rest of them only see you, safe and sound, when I see my brother being resuscitated on a medical berth. How is that something to be encouraged?”

“I don’t believe it is, Prowl. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair or just. I simply hold them to a standard of putting their fellow Autobots ahead of themselves and then I give them the freedom of deciding the extent of that, how far they’ll go to protect each other.”

Though Optimus spoke carefully, Prowl’s doorwings sprang up so suddenly that their hinges squeaked. “But it’s not them, Prime—it’s _you!_ Why don’t you hold yourself to the same standard?” the Praxian spat. “Why are we always sacrificing ourselves for you? Why are you taking and never giving?! I haven’t seen you shielding Bluestreak from any blows lately! You haven’t even come to see him since Ratchet dismissed you!”

“Would you have let me stay if I had tried?”

“Well, we’ll never know, will we? Because you _didn’t_ try!” Venting harshly, Prowl pressed his hands against his face and then bolstered himself, doubling them as fists at his sides. “Tell me, Optimus, what do you live for? Do you live for them as much as they live for you? Do you? Tell me!”

“Prowl,” Optimus began firmly, taking ahold of his officer’s shoulders and tightening his grip when he tried to wrench away. “Prowl, believe me when I tell you this: there’s not a single minute, a single _nanoklik_ that goes by that I don’t ask myself that question. I want to and I try to, but …”

He paused, venting ruefully. “You might be the only one who sees it, but contrary to popular belief, I’m not infallible. I fail you. Every orn that Megatron lives, every orn that Bluestreak and Ironhide and Cliffjumper and Jazz leap in front of me and get hurt, I know that I’ve failed you. But those are their lives, not mine, and _they_ choose what they fight for. Prowl…” The other mech was glaring fiercely at the ground between them, refusing to look up, so Optimus gripped him tighter and leaned down, ever so slowly retracting his facemask as he murmured, “Prowl, please forgive me.”

For the first time in several vorns, Prowl saw Optimus’ true face, open and scarred, and it seemed to surprise him. He studied the Prime for several kliks, searching for earnest and finding nothing but.

“I…I…” Prowl shook his helm, optics widening and brightening. Without any more accusations, he seemed helpless to speak.

“You don’t have to,” Optimus assured him, resettling his mask into place. “But I want you to know that I never forget everything you and Bluestreak do for me. I will do whatever is necessary to pay it forwa—” He tensed, stopped venting entirely, and then watched over Prowl’s shoulder as the closest doorwing trembled and fell, pressing close to its owner’s back as he tightened his grip on his leader.

 _Alright…That might be a good start,_ Optimus decided, sighing deeply and returning the hug.

**Author's Note:**

> It's not exactly a happy ending and they're not exactly right with each other, but Prowl's too emotionally wrung out. Right now, this is enough. 
> 
> And by the way, he needs more hugs.


End file.
